


Tea and Coffee

by llama_at_221b



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Coffeeshop AU, John's pining again, M/M, Sherlock knows it, Sherlock's Hair, Teenlock, Unilock, does anyone even read these?, john's a barista, sherlock's a pompous git
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-26 17:35:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9913598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llama_at_221b/pseuds/llama_at_221b
Summary: John works at the little Baker Street Café just off campus during the summers. Sherlock's solving cases left and right. John is caught up in an insane web of mysteries and craziness that he did not bargain for. He really did not.





	1. The Bakr Street Café

**Author's Note:**

> Hey childrens! New fic for you. I love the coffeeshop John au, so... I wrote one! Hope you like it.

John sighed, resting his head in his hand on the front counter of the Baker Street Cafe, run and owned by Mrs. Hudson. The kindly old lady had given him a job right away, and he was grateful for that, but business was slow. And when I say slow I mean slow. He and the only other two employees, Sarah Sawyer and Molly Hooper, had only had ten customers that day. Yesterday he’d almost been late for Uni rugby practices because he had to wait and see if anyone was going to come. He sighed again, and stood up.

His t-shirt hugged his tan muscles, and he wore his apron loose to show that off. Even if this was a summer job, it was still a chance to pick up girls who came in - and possibly boys, too. Even if he never told his family he was bi, it didn’t mean he wasn’t. 

He finished stretching, and was about to go back into the employees’ room, when the small bell hanging over the door rang, signalling a customer. John turned and saw…

Perfection.

The man - Greek god, thought John’s increasingly erratic mind - was tall, so very tall, had skin the colour of starlight, and his hair.

His hair.

It was like the night spun into strands, but not quite as dark. It had the sort of chocolatey brown tint to it that looked expensive, but John could tell was not any sort of dye or fabrication. That was incredible.

John felt his pulse quicken as the otherworldly man strode up to the counter and placed an order for earl grey, one sugar, no cream. John blinked and nodded, blue eyes startled wide. Get it together, Watson, his mind scolded as he started the tea.

He could almost feel the man’s eyes on his back, and he almost stuttered when he asked for a name to write on the cup. The man smiled - oh, that made John’s heart sing, even if it was more of a smirk - and said the oddest name John had ever heard in his life.

Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes.

He hastily scribbled it on the cup, wanting this man to go away so John could recover at least a smidge of his dignity, but the man then did something incredible. "Ah," he said, inspecting the cup of tea, "where are you planning to serve? Afganistan or Iraq?"

John blinked. "...What?" he asked, aware that he sounded stupid. "It's, er, Afganistan, but.... How did you... how did you know that? Did... did Mike tell you?" He hadn't told anyone that except his closest friend, Mike Stamford, and he had been hoping Mike would keep it to himself. 

The other man's eyes twinkled, he shook his head, making his hair bounce, and he looked into John's blushing face. "No. I don't know any 'Mike'. I deduced it." When John cocked his head and started to ask, he quickly explained. "Deduction. I... deduce things, I observe things and I can see things from it, like, for example, if someone has a dog they might have hairs on their clothing, and from that I can tell what breed of dog, what sort of relationship with the dog, et cetera." John huffed out a short breath. "That's... well, that's really amazing."

Sherlock looked astonished and pleased at the same time. "You really think so?" he asked, lips twitching up at the edges - oh God, those lips! - in a sort of half-smile. John nodded, happy to see the man happy. 

"Yeah, I've - I've never heard of someone who could do that. It's brilliant."

At this, Sherlock lit up even more. "That's not what people usually say..."

"What do they usually say?"

" 'Piss off, freak'."

They looked at each other, and suddenly, they burst out laughing. "That's awful," John said after they were finished busting their guts, "You could probably tell one way or another, but my name's John." They didn't have nametags at the Cafe, but the incredible person before him could probably tell. 

"Yes, quite." Sherlock replied, then, "I'd best be going... will you be on shift tomorrow?"

John smiled and nodded. "See you."

"See you."

And with that, Sherlock swept out the door in a whirlwind of long coat and dark curls. John sighed, then blushed and quickly distracted himself by cleaning out the coffee machine for the seventeenth time.


	2. Earl Grey, One Sugar, No Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is a cutie. John's a cutie. Molly and Irene are super fangirls. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the consistency of the updates! I know you guys want more, and quicker, but these things are hard to wrangle. BTW, I listen to the Secret Life of Walter Mitty soundtrack while I write. You know, if you wanted that information.

John came a little earlier than he usually did the next day, in anticipation for Sherlock. He opened up shop, readied the coffee machines, and started up the day. He was just finishing up with making sure the cash register was working properly - it was sort of malfunctioning lately - when Molly walked in, chatting with Irene. They stopped when they saw John.    
  
“You’re early,” Irene greeted, slipping on her apron, “you never are.” Molly nodded in suspicious agreement. “I heard Sherlock came in here after Molls’ shift….” hinted Irene, guessing quite accurately at why.   
  
John blushed, glancing away. Molly and Irene shared a look. “You’d never met him before,” hummed Molly, slipping beside the blonde with a smile on her face. “But you did yesterday, and now you’re early,” continued Irene, coming in on his other side while John blushed harder and said nothing.   
  
Molly and Irene shared another look.   
  
“You like him!” they giggled simultaneously, high-fiving behind John. John was now a furious red, all the way to the tips of his ears. “You guys, even if I am bi, it doesn’t mean I like every attractive bloke who comes in here….” he hissed, but when he saw their faces, he sighed. “Okay, yeah, I kind of do.”    
  
“We won’t tell anyone,” Molly assured, smiling, but Irene butted in. “I might tell someone. I mean, John Watson, straightest guy you’ll ever meet, star rugby player, in love with Sherlock Holmes, scientist and school-wide freak?! This is bound to turn some heads!”   
  
John shook his head and sighed. “He’s asexual, isn’t he? I mean, Greg and Mike told me-” “What? No, he’s not.” Irene argued. “He dated some guy a year ago, didn’t he?” added Molly, “That… erm, what was his name… Jim bloke. Nobody liked him, though, Sherlock was never really attached…”    
  
Irene raised her eyebrows. “You’re just trying to deflect from the fact that you had a crush on Sherly a few years back, didn’t you, Molls?” Molly tinted pink. “That was middle school! We were kids.” 

****Irene rolled her eyes. “I think I’m the only teenager that I know that hasn’t had a crush on a Holmes.” Molly and John both looked at her. “That’s because you’re a lesbian!” John chided, throwing his hands up in the air. Irene was about to reply when the door swung open, tinkling the bell, and there stood Sherlock.  
  
“Irene,” he acknowledged in his syrupy baritone, “Molly, I didn’t know you worked here.” She shrugged, and busied herself with starting another customer’s tea. The other customer was a shortish woman that John hadn’t noticed had come in. “Good morning, John.” Sherlock smiled then, and John was so surprised he had to mentally reprimand himself. _Goddamn it, Watson, get yourself together!_  
  
“Morning, Sherlock.” John replied with as much calm as he could muster at the moment, with Sherlock’s eyes on him and Molly and Irene snickering behind him. “What can I get for you?”  
  
“Same as yesterday.” he answered. Earl grey, one sugar, no cream. John remembered. He set about with the teamaking. He wrote Sherlock’s name on the cup, a little fancier than before, and made sure the tea was steeped just the right amount. John eventually handed it to a waiting Sherlock, who smiled, and took it with a small ‘thank you’. The titters behind John stopped, and the blonde waited until Sherlock was out the door, having promised to see him tomorrow, to ask why the two girls were staring at him, stricken looks on their faces.   
  
“What’s wrong?” he asked confusedly. “What’s _wrong_?!” choked Molly. “He said thank you!” burst out Irene. “What’s the problem with that?” John was even more confused.  
  
“He **_never, ever_** says thank you!!” they chorused. John could practically hear the double exclamation mark. “Never!” bubbled Irene, mood changed. “Ever!” squealed Molly. They clutched at each other as they giggled and squealed.   
  
John was unaware that what he was seeing was a ‘fangirl attack’ or, more commonly, a ‘fangirling’ experience. You guys know what I’m talking about. The excitement of cannon and seeing your otp get together. You catch my drift. You know.  
  
After John was thoroughly weirded out, Irene grabbed his shoulder. “Do you _know_ what this _means_?!” Molly squeaked. “No…” John said slowly. “It means he _likes you_!” they exclaimed in unison. John blushed. “Really?” They looked at him, happiness apparent in their eyes. “Yes!”   
  
John spent the rest of that day in a sort of happy daze.  
  
                                                                                                        ***************************************************************  
  
Two weeks passed. John and Sherlock became very good friends. Sherlock never had to ask for what he wanted, John always had his earl grey with one sugar, no cream, and slowly, Sherlock let John know about his cases, what he did. John, as always, was terribly impressed and didn't refrain from telling Sherlock so. The genius puffed up when he got compliments, and John found it rather cute. The genius never seemed to notice when John flirted with him, which was deeply saddening John.  
  
On the third week, John had a late night. That was the first night Sherlock came in late, and the first time he ever ordered coffee.  
  
He swept in like some exotic tidal wave, with his laptop, hair messier than usual, and a slightly strange, wild look in his eyes. He laid down his laptop and thumped down onto one of the ornate chairs, the closest one to John, while said blonde looked on in confusion. Sherlock steepled his fingers underneath his chin, a gesture John had come to recognize as his thinking position. After a few minutes, John walked over to him and rested a hand on his shoulder.   
  
"Sherlock, mate," he began softly, "you alright?"  
  
Sherlock cracked an eye. "Ah." he answered shortly, followed by, "Yes. Quite. Can you get me some coffee? Haven't slept in... awhile."  
  
John sighed quietly, worried by that answer and request. He was aware of Sherlock's sleeping and eating habits, and he was constantly agonizing over it, trying to get him to eat something, or sleep more. "How long?" he asked, as he started the coffee.   
  
Sherlock didn't move. "Awhile."  
  
"How long, exactly? A number, Sherlock, a number of days."  
  
"About... three..."  
  
"Sherlock! That's unhealthy, you've got to take care of yourself!"  
  
"Honestly, John, it's just transport."  
  
"It's not! It's important!" John argued, bringing Sherlock his coffee. Sherlock took it with a little 'thank you' that reminded John of the first time he'd said it, and what had ensued. Namely, the fangirling that Irene and Molly had commenced. He sighed lightly, shaking his head. Sherlock sipped his coffee.  
  
"Just... try and take better care of yourself, won't you?"  
  
"Fine." Sherlock murmured, not really focussing on John, and going back to his Mind Palace. John huffed out a little breath and started wiping down the counters. After about a half-hour, Sherlock opened the laptop and started to type. John wandered over and bent down next to him. "New case?" Sherlock hummed in agreement. "What's it about?" Sherlock clicked on a picture to enlarge it. "A man, middle-aged, about 40, was found dead. It seemed he was killed by a slice to his throat, and then brutally mutilated several times over. His blood was then mixed with icing, cupcake icing, and left at the scene of the crime, which lead the police to believe Mr. Smallwood, a nearby baker, did it. Something's off, though...." Sherlock finished, staring angrily at the picture. John squinted at it. "Wait... is it really mixed? It's kind of... weird-looking...."  
  
Sherlock sat up, eyes wide. "That's it! John, that's it! Smallwood would have mixed it properly, and... that isn't even homemade icing! John, you've done it!" He was shaking John by the shoulders now, an elated expression on his face. He shot up from the chair, grabbing his laptop, and grabbed the front of John shirt.  
  
And suddenly, John was being kissed.  
  
Just as suddenly, Sherlock was gone. John fell back against the chair, processing what had just transpired. Sherlock had... Sherlock had kissed him! Kissed him? Kissed him!   
  
Sherlock had kissed him.  
  
What was he supposed to make of all this?


	3. Meeting Moriarty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty is mean, Mycroft is a nosy git, like always, and John. Oh, poor little Jawn. Sherlock be lost. Jawn be sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Here's another chapter for you childrens. Thank you so much for the kudos and kind words, and sorry for the delay. I will be posting regularly now, on Wednesdays and Saturday, starting next week.

After the day Sherlock kissed him, John couldn’t find him anywhere. He asked everyone he knew, everyone who might know Sherlock, but he didn’t uncover anything. Nobody knew anything! It was useless.   
  
John sat in the coffeeshop, angry with the world. He’d finally gotten Sherlock, just to have him disappear! He placed his head in his hands, willing himself not to cry out frustration, out of heartbreak, out of misery.   
  
The cafe’s bell tinkled. A man walked in. John sat up, pasting a fake smile on his face. “Hello, sir, what can I-” he cut himself off when he looked up and saw the man’s face.   
  
He looked like Sherlock. Uncannily so.  
  
“Hello, John. I am Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes’ brother. Ah, he did not tell you about me. No matter. I need to talk to you,” he clarified, standing in front of the blonde. John said nothing, having been shocked into silence. “Well then. I shall get straight to the point, then.” His gaze darkened, and John’s eyes widened. “You are to cease all contact with my brother. Leave him be, do not try to speak with him again.” John shook his head.  
  
“No.”  
  
Mycroft’s brow furrowed. He seemed borderline insane to John. “Why not?”  
  
“No. I’ll ‘cease contact’ with him when he wants me to. For now, do you know where he is?”  
  
“Know where he- what do you mean, know where he is? He’s here, isn’t he? On school campus?” Mycroft suddenly looked frightened. As much as a Holmes can look frightened, which to us, would be more like mild discomfort. John had learned the difference with Sherlock.   
  
“No, he’s not. No one’s seen him for… cor, it’d be four days now.” John replied anxiously.  
  
Mycroft shut his eyes and sucked in a breath, muttering about higher standards for spies. He eventually opened his eyes and glared at John. “Is there anywhere he could be?”  
  
“I was just about to ask you that.”  
  
“Where is the last place that you saw him?”  
  
“Here. You know, in the cafe.”  
  
“This is dissatisfactory. I expect more from my network.”  
  
“Your… your ‘network’?”  
  
“Yes. The network of spies that I use to keep tabs on others. For safety reasons.”  
  
John furrowed his brow. “Then why didn’t they notice that Sherlock is missing?”  
  
“I do not have time for this. I must find my brother.”  
  
And he was gone. “As dramatic as his brother.” John muttered sadly, starting to wipe the counter. He wished Sherlock was back. He would do anything to get him back.  
  
Anything.  
  
                                                                  ***********************************************  
  
The next day after he was done in the coffeeshop, John stepped into his dorm to find a fat envelope addressed to him lying on the floor. Odd, he thought, it must have been slipped under the door. He picked it up and unsealed it.  
  
Inside, there was a folded picture and a folded piece of paper. He unfolded the paper first and read the short note.  
  
_Dearest Johnny Boy,_  
  
_You're probably wondering where Sherly is by now. Why, he's been gone four days now! Well, don't worry your pretty little head about him! He's having a great time with me and Sebby. By the way... would you want to play a little game? If you win, you get Sherlock and I leave you alone for a while. If you lose..._  
  
_The picture will become a lot worse._  
  
_Leave your reply on the windowsill closest to your dorm door!_  
  
_XO, J.M._  
  
On the verge of panicking, John fumbled with the picture, shaky fingers having trouble unfolding it.  
  
"Oh... oh god..."  
  
The picture was of Sherlock.  
  
The genius was unconscious and tied to a chair, bruises covering most of his face, and his lip bloodied.  
  
A broken Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyy! Hope you liked it. Lil cliffhanger for you there. Also if you want to give me a prompt, I am johnlockpotterhead on tumblr. I promise to fill them as quickly as possible. Message me, babes!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are my life. I'd die for more comments.


End file.
